Lionel’s expressive face remained pensive and distressed. An awful thought flitted into Sir Geoffrey’s head. To banish it was instinctive. He clutched his son’s arm.
“I take it, my boy, that you ain’t entangled with any woman or girl out there—what?”
Lionel laughed.
“Lord, no. What an idea!”
The Squire beamed at him.
“Well, well—these things happen. We must find you a nice little wife, old chap, with a bit o’ money—a bit o’ money. Yes, yes, God forbid that any son of mine should marry for money, but why not follow the Quaker’s advice to his son, and go where money is.”
“Why not?” said Lionel, smiling back at his father.
They went arm-in-arm through the hall, and then to bed.
When the Squire reached the big room in which Lionel had been born he found Lady Pomfret still up and wide awake. The Squire chided her, but confessed that he was not feeling sleepy himself.